


How To Get A Proper Boyfriend

by Altais4



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altais4/pseuds/Altais4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin has finally landed himself a boyfriend. Too late he realises that the relationship isn’t exactly what he wanted it to be. Meanwhile, Douglas struggles with loneliness after his separation from Helena.</p>
<p>Written for this prompt on the Cabin Pressure prompt meme:<br/>http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6968.html?thread=13833016#cmt13833016</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The flat lay in Fitton’s modern residential area, blocks of new build flats, all clear lines and sharp angles. Respectable people were living here, Martin knew, who wouldn’t fuss about paying the hired help. It wasn’t a van job, though, he had scheduled for the afternoon. So Martin’s breath went unnaturally short as he entered the building and set about climbing the three stories on foot. When he turned the last corner, he saw a man leaning in the shadows of the doorway. 

A surge of relieve rushed through Martin at the sight of ruffled blond hair and heavy-lidded blue eyes. As he stepped closer, he could see the corners of the man’s mouth raising ever so slightly. “Hello, Captain,” he growled.

Martin swallowed, his heart speeding up at the address. In a way, he still couldn’t believe in his luck. He puffed himself up, feeling instantly a bit taller. “Hello, James,” he replied softly. Secretly he prayed that he didn’t notice the tremor in his voice. For all the world, he didn’t want to fuck this up.

James only grinned. Almost predator like, Martin thought with a shiver. James slowly pushed himself off the wall and sauntered over. “Well, look who we’ve got here.”

Martin blushed, stiffening under the scrutiny of his steady gaze. From close up he noticed the bags under James’ eyes. It didn’t matter. He’d never been with such a handsome man in all his life. “Thank you for inviting me over,” Martin whispered. 

It was all he could get in of his careful memorised speech as James firmly grabbed him by his buttocks and thrust their hips together. He folded Martin in his arms and latched his mouth onto his. Shakily Martin reached up to return the kiss. James tasted of cigarette smoke and smelled like this. All of him – his clothes, his skin. Martin didn’t care. His world was already speeding out of control, his erection rising, as he pressed close against his first boyfriend in years.

“Hmm,” James laughed harshly. Pleased. He spun Martin around in a practised motion and shoved him through the door, banging it shut with one foot. 

Shut off from the light of the staircase, the hall suddenly became dark. Martin shivered with excitement as James began to manoeuvre him further into the flat. Together they stumbled through the living room, past the kitchen. On and on, like some improvised dance, James’ hand never leaving his arse, their mouths firmly latched onto each other. 

They almost fell through the bedroom door. Martin’s legs hit the bed hard as he slumped down onto black satin covers. For a moment he just lay there stunned, vaguely registering the expensive silken feel of the bedclothes. He also sensed an acute loss of warmth. When he looked up, he realised that James had moved away from him and lazily begun to strip. Dazed Martin stared at his hands on the zipper, not quite believing what was happening here.

A virtual stranger was stripping right in front of him. Trembling, Martin sat up, knowing that he had to follow James’ lead no matter what. Because this was what he was here for. This was what he wanted.

When James had asked him out on the airfield, it had been clear from the start that sex was on the agenda. Martin had seen it in the knowing curve of his lips, the gleam in his eyes. His whole aura of maleness and experience. And Martin, deprived and starved from years of abstinence, had said yes. To his great astonishment.

His fingers shook as he fiddled with the buttons of his best shirt. Now and then, he sneaked a peak at James, who seemed completely at ease in the comfort of his own bedroom. As Martin put his shirt away, a rush of cold air fanned his nipples. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling suddenly shy and vulnerable. It was a small consolation that James was also in the flying business. He was steward of an actual airline. They shared the passion for aeroplanes. Quickly he pulled his trousers down. 

The next moment, James was over him. He pressed him into the covers, burying him with his warm, naked body. Martin felt a flicker of relief that they were back to touching. Eagerly he stretched his neck to kiss him again, taste the cold cigarette smoke on his lips. But James seemed to have lost all interest in cuddling or kissing. Impatiently he rolled Martin over until he was face down. 

Quivering, Martin complied, steadying himself on his hands and knees. His cock was still hard with need. Behind him he could hear James panting. 

He kept very still as James massaged his arse, only gasping a little as blunt fingers probed deeply into his crevice and then entered him. Martin steeled himself against some remarks about his tightness. But thankfully, James just went on, and soon he felt himself giving way, as if he was having strangers fingering him on a daily basis. 

At heart, Martin knew this was rushed. But that was the way real men did this, right? Straight to the goal without much fuss. The very thought made his cock stiffen even more, if this was possible.

It was like a shock as James pushed into him hard. Martin hissed, tears pricking in his eyes. He clung to the satiny covers, trying his best to unclench, to accommodate James’ cock. He had never had such an experienced lover, he didn’t want to ruin this. He held his breath as his tight hole was stretched wide, focusing on anything but the alien, burning sensation.

James rolled his hips and Martin bit back a moan. He could feel the cock sliding in and out. It felt good, too good. He shifted his weight on his forearms to better absorb the heavy thrusts. God, how he’d longed for this. From behind, he could hear James grunting as he slammed deeply into him.

Martin let his head hang docilely as he surrendered to the strange new rhythm, the ebb and flow of James’ strokes washing through his body. It felt hypnotising being pushed and shoved like this. Dreamlike Martin let his gaze wander, dizzily following the complex folds of the black bedsheets with his eyes, up to the bedside table where the cigarettes lay, drool dropping out of his mouth. 

He could feel James’ thrusts building in intensity. His cock stiffened slightly, and Martin realised that he was good to come. Frantically he reached for his own prick, trying not to lose his balance kneeling on the bed. He whimpered as his fingers wrapped around his shaft. Only few strokes. He pulled. It was over. 

Martin groaned as he jerked forward and he spilled into his hand. He collapsed in a heap on the bed, his vision fading to black. 

The room lay in comfortable half-darkness when Martin raised his eyes at last. James had rolled off him the minute they hit the mattress. Wobbly Martin turned over from his spread-eagled position, avoiding the soiled spot under him, and sank back onto the satiny covers. The orgasm was always a let-down for him. 

Next to him, he could hear the click of the cigarette lighter. Martin glanced up and saw James smoking in silence. He made no move to cuddle or hug. With his climax, he actually seemed to have lost all interest in Martin. This wasn’t what he had expected from his first date. 

The minutes seemed to drag on, and Martin could feel his insecurity build up again, seeping into him like slow poison. Nervously he contemplated his skinny body, his swivelling cock. Should he say something? Or even touch him . . . kiss him? But Martin had no protocol for this. He cleared his throat. “I think I’ll have to go now,” he said in a quiet voice. 

James nodded slowly and began to play with his lighter. It was all indication that he had heard. 

Martin quickly gathered up his clothes. He didn’t want to go on James’ nerves by prolonging this unnecessarily. As he pulled up his boxers, he realised that his cock and belly were still sticky with drying semen. But he ignored that for now. He could always shower afterwards. When Martin turned to say goodbye, he was surprised to see the trademark smile playing on James’ lips. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! You weren’t that bad.” James chuckled as he reached for another cigarette. “I’ll call you, Captain.” 

Martin just stared transfixed at him, his nicely build body, while his heart was doing somersaults. So it wasn’t a one off then. He waved shyly at his new boyfriend and then abruptly turned and fled the room. In passing, his eyes fell on the glowing digits of the alarm clock. 

Their first date had lasted for no more than half an hour.


	2. Chapter 2

The door to the flight deck closed with an ominous thud. Baffled Douglas stared at the seat next to him where Martin had been sitting a few seconds ago. The captain had seemed rather eager to leave which was peculiar in itself. The moment they had reached parking position, he had grabbed the papers, donned his hat, and off he had gone. Usually he loved to do all the shutdown procedures by himself, making sure that everything was done by the book.

Douglas yawned. He had operated the flight. Maybe the simple reason was that Martin finally trusted him enough to do something by himself. Shaking his head in disbelief, Douglas shut off the master switch and stood up and stretched. His lower back was stinging from sitting for hours on end. Absentmindedly he rubbed it with his thumbs, before he retrieved his flight bag from the locker and left, making sure that G-ERTI was safely parked in the hanger.

When he walked across the tarmac, he could see that the lights in the portakabin were on. Inside he found Martin busy with paperwork. Very busy indeed. Douglas tossed his flight bag on the sofa and slumped on the vacant office chair, ignoring his aching back. He smirked. “What's the hurry, Captain? Do you have a plane to catch?”

“No, Douglas,” Martin replied evenly. He had barely looked up when Douglas had entered the office. Now he started scribbling again.

“Is it a van job then? On Wednesday evening?” Douglas leaned onto their shared writing desk and made a show of deep thinking. “Do people move on Wednesdays?” he inquired politely.

“They move all the time . . . just the same as they fly planes,” Martin returned irritably. He swivelled around and checked the wall chart. Then he looked at Douglas with a stern expression. “I'll see you tomorrow at 10:00 hours for the the Boston flight. Don't be late!” He snapped the folder shut. “You can go now if you want.”

Douglas didn't budge. Impassively he watched as Martin sorted through the papers and shelved the folder. He seemed different today. For a start, his fingers were shaking. When he went to the locker and exchanged his captain's jacket for another, Douglas raised his eyebrows in surprise. People didn't wear their good jackets to a van job.

“Did you find yourself a hot date?” he mocked, only half-joking. Martin stopped dead in his tracks, his cheeks taking on an interesting shade of red. Douglas realised that it might be true. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Hmm, five o'clock . . . this is not a dinner date, is it?”

“That's none of your business,” Martin hissed. He stepped in front of the mirror and ruffled his auburn locks, that had been dampened from the overuse of his captain's hat. Nervously he turned towards Douglas. “How do I look?” he asked sheepishly.

“Well, well.” Douglas walked up to him and inspected him from head to toe. Martin seemed to have trouble standing still, obviously brimming with suppressed emotion. On an impulse Douglas leaned in and flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel. He smiled broadly. “Terrific, Martin. You look terrific.”

“Uh?” Martin stared at him, his eyes wide open and vulnerable.

Douglas chuckled at his flabbergasted expression. Whistling, he picked up his flight bag and headed for the door. “Have fun!” he called out, not waiting for an answer. A very hot date indeed.

 

* * *

 

By the time Douglas crossed the parking place, he found himself in a much more sombre mood. Thick clouds were hanging overhead, threatening to rain, although it was the end of July. He unlocked the door to his Lexus and stretched again. Martin and him had been operating on and off for the whole day, but for once he felt in no hurry to go home.

There was no point, though, in fighting the inevitable.

The first thing he noticed when he pushed the front door open, was the small key ring lying on the tiles near the letter slot. He saw that it still had the little teddy bear attached to it Verity had given Helena for her 40th birthday. So it was final. Carefully Douglas bend down and picked it up, gently placing it on the side table. He should leave the key with the neighbours, he thought wearily, or even with Martin. After all, he was was living by himself now.

With a sense of foreboding, he glanced around the hall. The absence of their floor-to-ceiling mirror was the most obvious change. Dumbly Douglas stood in the spot where Helena used to spin around wearing cool summer dresses, and gaped at the bare wall. He barely registered that her assortment of valuable floor vases was missing as well. That was just what one would expect of a florist.

Swallowing hard, he hastened to the kitchen. The Italian coffee machine was gone. Douglas remembered the day he had brought it home from a trip to Milan in the beginning of their affair. Helena liked her cappuccino, and Douglas had loved to see her happy. He used to get up early and serve it to her in bed on weekends, enjoying the look of her sleepy eyes and tousled hair when she sat up and sipped at the milk foam.

Good Lord, he felt like he could use a cappuccino right now. Anything better than sniffing about the house, facing this mess of a broken marriage. Douglas rested his hands heavily on the worktop. After a moment of silent contemplation, he straightened himself and began to hunt for some tea bags since coffee wasn't an option anymore.

While he waited for the water to boil, his gaze wandered out of the back window into the garden. Helena had turned it into a blossoming oasis after they got married five years ago. Well, this would be his job from now on, Douglas thought resignedly, as well as all the other, less enjoyable, chores like doing the shopping and cleaning the house.

He brought the familiar old tea pot to the kitchen table and poured himself a cup. What was it about beautiful women and coffee? Douglas frowned. For no particular reason Martin came to mind, who was very much a coffee man himself. Today he had looked all flushed and excited by his date. His new love. Douglas had to admit that it suited him well.

For him, though, this was the end more likely. Gloomily he stared into his cup of tea, the milk turning the clear liquid dull and murky. Part of him was relieved that it was over – that he didn't need to pretend anymore. Entertaining a young wife was more work than it looked like. Douglas heaved himself up again. He would put the telly on. Sitting in silence all by himself felt too lonely.

On his way over to the lounge, he studiously overlooked the gaping holes Helena's move-out had caused. As he put down his tea cup and reached for the remote, Douglas saw a small book lying on the coffee table. It had a note attached to it. Curiously he lifted it up.

_Find peace with Tai Chi._

Fingers trembling, he read the note written in Helena's round letters: 'Dear Douggie, be good to yourself, Helena'

For an agonising moment, Douglas stared at the cover, hot rage spilling. The innocent letters started dancing before his eyes. He had always admired Helena's handwriting. Furiously he flung the book away. He watched it sail across the room and crash against one of the last remaining flower pots, before both hit the floor, shattering the fragile china into a thousand pieces.


	3. Chapter 3

Martin had been giddy the whole day. The short flight to Copenhagen and back had seemed to be dragging on forever. Martin had been operating out, and it had been kind of okay then. At least he’d had something to concentrate on.

But the way back was an ordeal. Most of the time he’d been staring out of the window into the clouds, in his mind already in Fitton. Praying that they would be on time, that James wouldn’t cancel at the last minute, that their date would go well. Even listening to Douglas’ sonorous voice had failed to distract him, though the man had tried to engage him in conversation for a few times. Martin couldn’t understand it. Normally he reacted more sensitively to him.

God, it was just bad luck that Douglas had guessed right about the date, Martin thought as he hurried towards his old van. When Douglas had stepped close to him in the portakabin, even touched him, Martin had been frozen with shock, imagining all the things James and him were about to do, his half-hard cock barely concealed by his uniform trousers.

It had been bound to happen sooner or later. Today Douglas had simply seemed surprised. But there would be teasing, Martin knew.

He opened the driver’s door and climbed up onto the seat, anxious not to crumple his good jacket. In a way, Martin was astonished that he didn’t care more about Douglas’ reaction. But ever since he’d met James – or _Jamie_ as he called him sometimes in his mind – Martin couldn’t stop thinking about him. Sighing, he started the engine and began to drive out of the airfield. They hadn’t actually come round to the endearment.

Though they were lovers now, there never seemed to be enough time to linger in bed or to do anything really besides sex. Jamie loved to fuck him, and somehow they always got caught up in heat of the moment. That didn’t leave room for much else.

Martin impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he stopped at yet another traffic light. Today was their third date and he couldn’t suppress a nervous feeling. The problem was that Jamie used to be oddly quiet between dates. As a fellow professional Martin found this perfectly understandable. Jamie worked for a regular airline, he didn’t have much time for calls or texting. This didn’t ease the hollowness in his stomach, though, when he didn’t hear from him for days on end.

How his heart had lurched yesterday night when he got the text ,I miss you captain’. It almost made up for all those hours spent brooding. Although the date and time were a bit inconvenient. Martin had been hoping that maybe this time he could stay a little longer. Their third date should count for something.

But no. Martin swallowed hard as he turned left and James’ house came into view. Tomorrow was the Boston flight. He needed to pick up his uniform shirts from the dry cleaners, then buy something to eat. Make a few Icarus calls. If only he’d texted a bit earlier, Martin thought desperately as he jogged across the street, he might have rescheduled. But with James so busy all the time and rarely replying to his texts, he simply hadn’t dared to cancel. It was too precious what they had.

All these thoughts vanished into thin air, the instant James opened the door and Martin stumbled into his arms. Sometimes he felt like he could drown in his kisses. Breathlessly he pressed closer to him, bathing in the intimacy, the reassurance of his body.

“Hold up a minute, Captain!” Chuckling, James held Martin at arm’s length. He cupped the back of his head and raked his nails through the neatly combed curls. Martin felt his knees buckle as he looked up into his boyfriend’s hooded blue eyes. Jamie grinned back and brushed a slow wet kiss over Martin’s parted lips, his other hand squeezing his buttocks, insatiable as ever.

They staggered through the hall, groping and kissing, skipping the lounge and walking straight to the bedroom. When Martin landed on his back, naked, he tried to roll onto his stomach, knowing what was to come. But Jamie stopped him. Lightly he ran a hand over his chest, before he pushed him back into the covers with surprising strength. “I want to see you while I’m fucking you, Captain,” he growled.

Martin nodded his head, panting. He wriggled on the satin covers to make himself more comfortable. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. Fucking face to face felt weirdly intimate, and Martin was sure that it meant something. Jamie truly cared for him.

Not long and he heard the snap of the condom. James parted his hole with his thumps, none too gentle, and thrust into him in a practised manner. Martin gasped and bit his lips to prevent himself from making a noise. He knew that James didn’t care for lengthy preparation. Their first time had been far the gentlest. It wasn’t outright bad, though, Martin told himself. He could understand that Jamie couldn’t wait. In a way, he felt the same.

James dug his fingers into his hips, and Martin lifted his legs to ease the burning, clutching at the blanket with his hands. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, concentrating on the overwhelming sensation of having Jamie’s cock in him.

“Look at me, Captain!” James’ raspy voice broke into Martin’s dreamy haze. He squinted. He could see his boyfriend looming above him, pounding away, his features blurred. Martin moaned, suddenly realising how awkward it felt to be folded like this. He reached up to wind his arms around his lover’s back. To get closer, to connect. Jamie grunted and jerked forward, his pace already quickening . . .

Afterwards Jamie lit his trademark cigarette and Martin quietly snuggled against him, cherishing the precious minutes together. His heart almost stopped when Jamie put a lazy arm around him. Martin became very still, filled with an overwhelming desire to move closer. Nervously glanced at the clock. Almost six. “I have to go now,” he murmured. “I’m operating out to Boston.”

Jamie stiffened under his touch, and Martin realised that it had been the wrong thing to say. 

“Can’t get away from me quickly enough, Captain?” James grumbled.

The words stung. An unexpected flare of anger surged through Martin and died away at the unfairness of it all. It was James who wouldn’t cuddle. Sometimes Martin wondered if he liked him at all. But all he said was, “I’m sorry. I have to operate out to Boston.” 

“Flying rich businessmen, huh?” James scoffed.

“It’s a cargo flight,” Martin explained quickly. He gingerly sat up, his arse still sore from the sex. “We don’t do passenger flights to the US anymore. We don’t even stay overnight. There was an incident with a businessman years ago–” Martin clamped his mouth shut, painfully aware that he was babbling.

“That is still something different than flying the dammed route Stansted to Cologne all day,” Jamie groused. He didn’t look at Martin, just fiddled with his lighter.

“Um–” Martin didn’t know what to say. But he would have given everything for a bit of routine and a nice paying job. He'd never really understood why people craved excitement. “I . . . I could tell you the story about the businessman. It isn’t a nice one,” Martin swallowed, but James put him off. He already seemed to have lost interest in the conversation.

Martin nodded, resignedly. Sometimes it was so hard to talk to Jamie. “So . . . we’re good?” he asked.

Instead of an answer James lit another cigarette and took a deliberately slow drag. Martin knew that this was a dismissal. With a sinking heart, he began to look around the darkened bedroom and snatched up his clothes, already accustomed to not getting a shower.

“Hey, Captain, wait!” James’ lazy voice rang through the silence.

Martin whipped around, apprehension shooting through him. He crossed his arms before his chest. “What is it?” 

James was grinning slyly, stubbing out his cigarette. “Don’t I even get a goodbye kiss?”


	4. Chapter 4

Douglas stared at the mess on the floor. The Tai Chi book was lying innocently amidst a pile of broken china, potting soil and the pitiful remains of the flower. Slowly he bent down and picked it up. Helena’s parting shot. It was brand new. Shaking his head, Douglas put the book down on the mantelpiece, intend on giving it to charity. Then he went for a dustpan and brush, cursing his lack of self control.

Being alone brought out the worst in him. Douglas clenched his jaw. People generally assumed he was good company and by God he was, but all that evaporated into thin air the instant the door snapped shut and he was home alone. He rather envied Martin, who undoubtedly could occupy himself for hours on end with his little projects.

Douglas swept up the mangled plant and the remnants of the flowerpot and threw them into the dustbin. Irresolutely, he cast a glance around the kitchen. Somehow he’d lost all interest in watching telly, feeling too edgy for a quiet evening. He rubbed his aching back, heaved a sigh. He almost looked forward to the Boston flight tomorrow.

It would be just Martin and him transporting cargo to the US, no flight attendants needed. Which also meant, Douglas grimly thought, that Carolyn had seized the opportunity to cut down on catering, again. Not that he was going to miss Arthur’s cuisine, but free food was one of the very few perks Martin got from the job. And the captain could really do with some nourishing.

That gave him an idea. Douglas stopped pacing, suddenly feeling recharged with energy, a pleased smile forming on his lips. He considered the various shelves and cupboards. Initially he had planned to grab himself a couple of sandwiches on the way to the airfield. But what if he cooked something nice instead for Martin and him to share? Made it a surprise!

For a beautiful moment, Douglas imagined the stunned look on his captain’s face, when he dished up a home cooked meal 26000 feet above the ground. It had to be something special, but also easily to heat up in the microwave. Like Thai. Frantically he began to search the cupboards. He could also make dessert, Douglas decided. Martin would need all his strength after his hot date. Tiramisu would be great. He knew how much Martin loved coffee.

Coffee. The simple thought popped into his mind and brought him crashing back to reality. Douglas paused and blinked, his heart thudding dully in his chest. The coffee machine was gone. As was his wife. His _third_ wife. Mechanically he went to the fridge, opened the door. A gust of stale cool air wafted towards him. It wasn’t exactly empty, just containing the bare necessities.

Douglas staggered back and sank down on a kitchen stool, burying his head in his hands. Whom was he kidding? He wouldn’t be cooking any great meal today, his grand plans were a mere illusion. Disgusted with himself, Douglas heaved himself up again. Deep down he knew what he had to do – man up and face the empty bedroom upstairs. He left the kitchen and switched off the light.

But in the morning, Douglas thought with a crooked little smile, he would stop by the bakery first thing and buy some delectable pies.

 

* * *

 

For the first time since forever, Douglas was on time at the airfield. Everything was quiet apart from the occasional twittering of birds and his footsteps scrunching on the pavement, the fine July sun warming his face. After his decision was made, Douglas had slept surprisingly well. He had got up early, showered, dressed and paid a visit to his favourite bakery.

As he unlocked the door to the portakabin, Douglas realised that Martin hadn’t arrived yet. Shrugging, he went through to the window and opened it wide to let in fresh air. He shoved a bunch of safety manuals and a torn life-jacket aside and set the big paper bag containing the pies down on the sofa. It wasn’t too bad being early for once, Douglas felt. Humming to himself, he filled a pot with water and started the coffee machine.

An hour later, the door flew open and Martin barged into the room. “Hello, Douglas? Are you in there?” When he saw Douglas working quietly at the computer, he stopped dead and sank onto the nearest office stool. He let out a heartfelt sigh. “Thank God, you’re here. Did you do the flight plan?”

“Good morning to you, too, sir,” Douglas chirped. He put down his reading glasses and regarded the captain closely. The man looked unexpectedly ruffled. His uniform was prim and proper as ever, but the precious hat sat slightly askew on the tousled curls and his eyes were shining red as if he hadn’t slept much last night.

“Douglas, I’m really sorry I’m late. I . . . I couldn’t sleep and then I overslept.” Martin gave him an apologetic look. Nervously he pulled his shirt collar. “Believe me it won’t happen again.“

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Douglas realised he was feeling generous today. He got up and crossed the room. “Would you like some coffee? Freshly brewed. Milk, sugar?”

“Yes please and no. And . . . thank you.” Martin answered in a serious tone. He put the flight bag down and settled more comfortably into his stool. Silently he watched Douglas pouring a cup. “Looks like I can count on you, right?” he murmured mostly to himself.

“Oh, absolutely.” Douglas placed the chafed mug before Martin with a flourish, whilst pretending the carelessly uttered words didn’t sting. Had he ever let MJN or the captain down when it really mattered? He cleared his throat. “May I walk you through the briefing? The weather is fine. Clear skies expected over Boston. The flight plan is ready for you to sign.”

Martin nodded quietly, and Douglas noticed that his fingers were shaking as he drew up the paperwork.

 

* * *

 

Later, up in the air, flying above the gigantic Atlantic ocean, Douglas whiled away time by watching Martin eat his last piece of pie. Well, watching was a bit of a stretch, but he liked to sneak a peek now and then. The captain appeared deliciously flushed, trying to catch the last of the crumbs while simultaneously attempting to handle the multitude of instruments in a professional manner.

Funnily enough, ever since his troubles with Helena, Douglas had found himself taking an unduly interest in the members of MJN, who were, in a way, the closest persons to him. He sighed, rolling his shoulders, as he tried to relax his back. This flight had turned out to be rather uneventful so far, with Martin operating and staying unusually quiet at that.

“Sir, you haven’t told me yet,” Douglas began when he had enough of the monotone drone of the engines, “but how went your hot date yesterday?”

“Huh?” Martin dropped his paper napkin. “What do you mean?”

Douglas contemplated him for a while. Martin had been acting strangely theses days. Coming in late to work, staring out of the window. He hadn’t given him a lecture in weeks. Like he didn’t care about being captain anymore. Which was absolutely ridiculous, but still. “You were awfully eager to get away. Don’t you like my company anymore?” Douglas teased.

“No, no. That’s not it at all.” Martin’s eyes flickered to Douglas’ face and then back to the instruments, his fingers shoving nervously the last crumbs aside. “If you must know, I was running late.” He didn’t look too happy.

“I understand. You couldn’t wait to see your date. So how was it going?” Douglas tried not to sound too curious, though he really was. “Forgive me my surprise. But I recall a particular boring flight over Russia where you described yourself as hopeless.”

“Um.” Martin swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He looked anywhere but Douglas. “Not anymore. I’m not hopeless, I mean. It’s going well.” There was wonder in his voice, as if he couldn’t believe in his good fortune himself. “They like that I’m a captain.” Martin shifted in his seat.

“Good for you.” Douglas nodded approvingly. This new relationship did sound promising indeed, and very unlike Martin. “But why didn’t you wear your uniform jacket yesterday? The four stripes can really make a difference.” For a blissful moment, he thought of his glorious Air England days.

“Maybe sometime I will.” Martin lifted his chin. “I didn’t want . . . to show off. It’s sometimes hard to tell what’s best.” He fell silent, his shoulders slumping. After a while, he bent over to search for his lost napkin. When he came up again, predictably red in the face, he regarded Douglas curiously. “Speaking of uniforms, how is Helena?”

Douglas cringed. The last thing he needed was a reminder of the silly reason why his marriage broke. Or possibly not so silly, nor the true reason. However, it was rather unusual for Martin to insult him so casually. Why would he do such a thing?

“Douglas?” Martin prompted into the stretching silence. “Are you okay? You don’t say anything.” He sounded concerned.

Douglas shook himself back to reality, realising that Martin probably was just being thoughtless. “Has left for good,” he said coolly. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Martin stuttered. He reached out, but stopped himself right before his hand touched Douglas’ sleeve. “I didn’t mean to . . . I just never thought she would leave you. Why would she? Why would anybody?” He broke off, his cheeks glowing red.

Douglas flashed him a smile, feeling stupidly grateful for the kind words. They were utter nonsense, as they both knew, but he really appreciated the sentiment. A thought came to his mind. He still had the set of keys with the little teddy bear attached to it waiting on his side table. “Would you like to keep my spare key?” he asked brusquely. “If something happens.”

“What do you mean by that?” Martin gazed at him with big eyes, taken aback. “What would ever happen to you?”

Douglas felt old all of a sudden. “Well, if I lose my keys in a piano or something,” he quipped, already regretting his words. Martin and him weren’t this close. “You don’t need to. I suppose I can always give them to Carolyn.”

“No, no.“ Now Martin was blushing again. “I mean, yes, for sure.” He smiled like he meant it.

Douglas nodded, satisfied. It was always good to have someone watch your back. Perhaps he would invite Martin over some time. Bake a cake. Surely the poor boy could do with some dating tips from a pro.


	5. Chapter 5

Martin stood in his attic room, towel flung low around his hips, as he considered his uniform hanging from the peg on the door. It was covered with plastic foil, fresh from the dry cleaners. He could still remember the mind-boggling feeling of awe on the day he got it, his official first day as captain at MJN, Carolyn grumpily thrusting the pile of folded cloth into his arms. An airline captain at 32. To Martin it had seemed like a miracle after years of fruitless labour, years of being hopeless. Quickly he looked away.

His gaze fell on his old tool bag, safely stored in a corner. He had been hauling furniture through Fitton all day while the temperature was reaching 30C in the shade. When he got back, the students were thankfully off to the swimming pool and he had the house all to himself. He had seized the opportunity to take a good long undisturbed shower.

Now Martin reached out and let his hand glide softly under the foil, touching the rough cloth with his fingertips. The four gold stripes glinted in the afternoon sun. He felt excitement thrumming through him. Should he? 

Jamie had texted earlier, asking him if he was free tonight, merely three days after their last date. It had to mean something, this time Martin was sure of it. Jamie cared for him. He simply wasn’t good with talking . . . just like him. Martin’s fingers tensed at that particular thought and too late he realised that he was crinkling the freshly pressed fabric.

Much more gently, he withdrew the uniform from its protective sleeve and spread it out on the bed. Then he stood back, cool droplets of water trickling down his neck from his wet hair. His mind was racing. Douglas had done this a million times, Martin knew. And Jamie loved him being a captain – he called him anything but. Surely he would appreciate a little display. A change in routine might actually do them good.

Ignoring the odd twist in his stomach, Martin dried off and hung the wet towel over the backrest of his chair. He searched the cupboard for a white shirt and put it on. It felt sticky on his damp skin. When he checked in the mirror, he saw his nipples shining through the silken fabric, small dots of brownish pink. He licked his lips.

Wouldn’t it be more professional to wear a T-shirt underneath? Douglas did so, always, as Martin had noticed long ago. But Jamie didn’t know that, knew nothing about MJN really, and it was so incredibly hot today. Martin reached for his tie. He tied it with clumsy fingers, then loosened it again. It had to look natural to be convincing.

Carefully Martin shrugged into his uniform jacket, anxious not to wrinkle the shirt underneath. He ran a hand through his still damp hair and for an agonising moment he wondered, if Jamie would notice that he had showered beforehand. He doubted it. For all his good qualities, Jamie seemed rather unobservant.

It was time to leave. Martin donned his hat and flashed a quick smile at his reflection in the mirror, every inch the airline captain. He grabbed his flight bag. If he was going to go through with this charade, he would do it properly.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, in the sparsely lit hall of Jamie’s modern flat, he could feel his boyfriend’s eyes raking over him. They were standing close, Martin pressed unceremoniously against the wall, breathing in the familiar scent of stale cigarettes, the flat surface preventing movement. Jamie’s hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and Martin was sure he could actually hear his heart hammering in his chest. “We’ve just landed. C-Copenhagen. There wasn’t time to change,” he whispered.

“I can see that . . . Captain.” James’ voice dropped into a low purr. Martin swallowed. There was something glinting in his eyes he hadn’t seen before. Downright wolfish. James’ grip hardened. Martin shuddered as he was grabbed by his shirt – his second best work shirt – and pulled into a rough kiss.

Their lips smacked together, teeth clinching painfully. Before Martin knew what was happening, Jamie manhandled him through the hall, propelled him rudely into the bedroom. “Come on,” he growled. “You know the way.” Stumbling, Martin tried to regain his footing. It had never been like this. He’d got used to Jamie’s determined moves, but now he seemed almost angry.

“James . . . wait!” Martin squirmed in his iron grip. He took a deep breath. “Please, let’s slow down.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” James laughed harshly, madly. “You’ve got me all hot in your fancy uniform, Captain.” With swift movements, he loosened Martin’s belt and yanked his trousers down. They pooled around his ankles in a sorry puddle of blue polyester.

Perturbed Martin gazed down at his bare legs, the trousers on the floor, then closed his eyes in surrender. He fumbled with his shirt buttons. Better to get rid off this too, and damn the wrinkling. Clearly, Jamie was in no mood to be patient. Who would have thought his uniform would be such a turn on?

But James snatched his hand and stopped him. “Halt! Leave that on,” he hissed into his ear, voice harsh. Martin could feel the moist lips touching his earlobe. “I like you all dishevelled and debauched, Captain.” Slowly James let go of his arm. Holding Martin’s gaze, he reached out and lovingly petted the precious gold wings pin on his breast pocket. He leered.

“Jamie, it’s my uniform. My captain’s uniform!” Martin shrank back. He stared at his boyfriend in horror. This was not how he’d imagined it. This was all wrong.

“Stop being such a girl. I know you want it too,” James growled impatiently. He grabbed Martin by the hand and spun him around, making him stagger as his trousers got all tangled up around his ankles. Weakly Martin slumped against his chest. He could feel Jamie’s erect cock pressing against his bare back, the rough fabric of his slacks chafing his sensitive skin.

Martin shuddered. “Just be careful,” he pleaded desperately. “It’s my only one–”

“Ain’t I always?” James chuckled. Nudging him into his back, he steered Martin to the bed and slowly pushed him over. Martin gasped in surprise as he landed on his hands an knees. He scrambled for a better position fast, keenly aware of Jamie’s hand holding him down, his uniform jacket parting indecently over his naked arse.

“That’s my boy,” James whispered from behind, lubricating himself. This time his prick went in smoothly. A brief flare of pain and a hastily bit back moan, and then he was sheathed up to the hilt. James circled Martin’s upper body with one arm, fixing him roughly into place, as he slowly rocked into him. 

Despite everything, Martin could feel his cock harden. There was no saying no to Jamie. So he squeezed his eyes shut and abandoned himself to his harsh rhythm, oddly relieved that it was out of his hands now.

He came in on hot, white spurts, choking Jamie’s name. Came and came, all over his trousers . . . his jacket . . . his shirt.

James pulled out, panting heavily, and wiped himself clean using Martin’s shirttails. He slumped onto the bed with satisfied grunt. “God, that was hot. I didn’t think you had it in you, Captain.”

Martin spun around on the bed. He saw Jamie crossing his hands behind his head, blowing him a kiss. Shakily he sat up. It was like awakening from a bad fantasy or a particular sexy nightmare. As he looked down himself, ice formed in his guts – semen was splattered all over his uniform. Mechanically Martin traced the pearly white blobs with his fingertips, feeling sick in the stomach.

“Do you need these?” Jamie reached over to the bedside table and grabbed some tissues. He held them out to him, smirking. 

“Thanks,” Martin mumbled, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. He didn’t even know what he was thanking him for . . . the nonchalant praise or the damned tissues. His insides felt as if they had frozen. Hectically he dabbed all over the trousers and jacket, wiping away the ghastly white flecks. He tucked the soiled shirttails into the waistband. “I’ll have to go . . . wash this out,” he whispered.

“Hush, Captain.” James held him back with surprising strength, the sinews of his arm flexing. He considered Martin shrewdly. “I mean it. I really liked that. You should wear the jacket again some time.” He reached out and cradled Martin’s head in his hands, pulling him into a sensuous kiss.

But for the first time, Martin felt nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

Douglas knew something was off, the minute Martin hurried into the flight deck, late for the second time within a week.

There wasn’t much he could do about it, as long as they were airborne Douglas decided, regarding the captain’s saggy posture and his pale cheeks as they did the post take-off checks. However, the moment they’d touched Austrian ground and finished the paperwork, he leapt up and gently steered him out into the galley. His first thought was to take him to the pilot’s lounge, something that never failed to cheer Martin up, but then he remembered a little café nearby. It wasn’t nearly as distinguished, but at least it would give them some privacy.

The café was mostly empty and the lighting nicely dim, just as Douglas remembered it. Nodding to the waitress in passing, he choose a comfortable looking booth in the back and urged Martin to sit down. “What do you like? Coffee or a hot cocoa or . . .“ Douglas glanced at the menu, then craned his neck to the glass case full of cakes next to bar. “Hmm, they appear to serve Black Forest cake. Marvellous!”

He looked down at Martin who hadn’t uttered a word since they’d left G-ERTI, but seemed rather intend on fiddling with the gold stripes on his sleeve. Douglas sighed. It didn’t happen often that Martin was so tongue-tied around him. Feeling that it might be best to leave him alone for now, he went off to order some cake.

When he came back carrying a heavily laden tray, Martin didn’t seem to have moved, except that he’d placed his captain’s hat carefully on the bench next to him. After the first few sips of cocoa, though, some colour returned to his face.

“All right, what’s wrong?” Douglas asked between bites, savouring the rare blend of bitter chocolate, cherry and cream. When Martin didn’t answer, he leaned in, “Is everything okay with your family? Is your mother well?”

“No, it-it’s nothing like that.” Martin shook his head. He distractedly picked at his cake, but wouldn’t eat. “Douglas, can I ask you something, just between us?” He visibly swallowed. “It’s kind of personal.”

“Go ahead.” Douglas tried to sound casual. He motioned him to go on with a wave of his hand.

Martin didn’t quite meet his eyes. “This might be a stupid question, but does it matter much for your . . . lovers that you are a captain? The gold stripes, the hat, the bloody gold wings pin. Are they essential for the relationship?” He blushed.

Douglas’ guts froze. Was this Helena all over again? But then he saw Martin sitting hunched over his steaming mug. The man didn’t give the impression that he wanted to mock. If anything he seemed lost in his own world. Remembering their last conversation, he gently said, “Did you give the uniform a try?”

“God, you could say that.” Martin’s voice sounded shrill.

Douglas narrowed his eyes. “Then what went wrong?” He took a sip of cocoa.

“No, I mean . . . it worked out great. But–” Martin’s gaze flicked nervously to the waitress at the bar, as if she might overhear them. He lowered his voice. “Douglas, have you ever used your uniform for roleplay or something?”

“Roleplay?” Douglas repeated stupidly.

“In the bedroom,” Martin hissed.

“Ah.” Douglas leant back and regarded Martin levelly, wondering what the hell he’d done. Roleplay, sexual or otherwise . . . it didn’t sound like him at all. Douglas swallowed. A bit of reassurance might be in order. “Well, one or two times, maybe. But isn’t life always a bit like that? You’re an airline captain. That has a certain ring to it. Like money . . . adventure. Most people have no idea how narrow the seats really are, so to speak.”

Martin bit his lips. “But what about cabin crew? They do know.”

A flight attendant . . . interesting. Douglas asked himself where he’d picked her up. Fitton airport didn’t get much traffic, apart from the occasional Easy Jet flight. He slid his chair closer and said, “It applies for them especially. Think, Martin, you get paid 5-6 times as much. All those blinking lights in the flight-deck. Most of them couldn’t imagine doing your job ever. Believe me, they love sleeping with the captain.”

Martin nodded his head slowly, his gaze firmly fixed upon the smooth, slightly sticky tabletop. “So you think it’s normal when your partner gets really excited by a little play-acting?” he asked carefully.

“Sure, it’s like an aphrodisiac,“ Douglas said with conviction.

“Perhaps you’re right. It’s all perfectly normal,” Martin whispered. He held fast onto his mug, his shoulders curling inwards as if to protect him.

Douglas sighed. “You didn’t like it, I gather?”

“No. Not really.” Angrily Martin shoved his mug away and began to peck at his cake. “I mean I’m an airline captain, not . . .”

“ . . . some actor in a cheap soap,” Douglas finished gently.

“Porn star more likely,” Martin muttered under his breath. He flushed, his cheeks staining with streaks of red.

Douglas sucked in a breath and simply stared at him, his imagination running wild. “Don’t do it,” he said matter of factly. “Don’t do anything you don’t really want to. Think of it as the golden rule for any relationship. If you want to be liked for who you are, be yourself!” He looked Martin directly in the eye.

“Me? But that might not be overly attractive,” Martin whined. His eyelids fluttered nervously as he tried to express himself. “Look, it’s been a really long time for me. I’m not experienced like you. And I’ve never mentioned that I’m poor. I’m not a real captain.”

“Listen to me.” Douglas leant forward and placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder. He could feel him go very still under his touch. “Don’t fret so much. Something happened and you didn’t like it. You don’t need to tell me what it was. Next time, you leave your uniform at home. It’s as simple as that. Bring something else to your date instead. Cook for her. Just do something nice that isn’t about aviation.”

“Do you really think this will work? Well, I mean . . . it actually sounds like a good idea. Really good advice.” Martin shifted back and forth on his bench as he seemed to think this through. Slowly his eyes began to shine as he realised that it wasn’t hopeless after all.

Douglas stretched out in his chair and smiled at him. For some reason he felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “Why don’t you bring some wine?” he suggested. “You can sit down, have a nice chat. As it happens I still have my old stock of Chardonnay. Helena wasn’t too keen on it when she learned that her Tai Chi teacher is a health enthusiast,” he added ruefully.

“You would do that for me?” Martin looked stupidly grateful. “Thank you. Because this . . . this relationship really matters to me.” With that, he pulled his plate towards him and munched his cake.

Douglas nodded in approval. He was just glad to see Martin finally get an appetite.

 

* * *

 

The sun was already setting when they returned to Fitton and drove to Douglas’ house in separate cars.

In the hall, Martin suddenly seemed nervous again. He stared at the empty space on the wall where the big mirror used to be, but thankfully was too polite to say something. Douglas grimaced. He hadn’t done much about the house these last few days, lacking the energy. But at least it was clean.

Quickly he dashed down to the basement and came back with two bottles of Chardonnay. He searched the chest of drawers for a bag, packed the bottles up and handed them to Martin. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his spare key. “Martin, have you thought about my key?”

Martin gazed at his outstretched hand, then smiled like he’d just won the jackpot. Douglas couldn’t help thinking that this was a much better look on him than the dark ringed eyes from this morning.

“Thank you, Douglas. I really mean it.” Martin made a hesitant step forward. “And the key, no problem. Though it might be a bit tricky to water your plants when we’re together on trips.” He cracked a smile.

“Well, the plants are all gone anyway,” Douglas retorted grinning, not sure what was so funny about it. “Helena is a florist,” he added.

“Right.” Martin murmured, tripping from one foot onto the other as if he wanted to say more. Suddenly he leant in, and before Douglas knew what was happening, he found himself wrapped in some awkward hug. Martin felt warm and slightly sweaty. Baffled, Douglas resisted to give him a manly clap on the shoulder, but held on tight.

“You’re a good friend,” Martin mumbled into his shoulder. Then, without another word, he dropped his hands, turned on his heel and rushed out of the door.

Douglas watched him trudge towards his car and stow the wine on the passengers seat. When the old van rumbled out of the street, he silently closed the front door and slumped against it, heaving a sigh. What had he got himself into?

He could still feel the the warm imprint of Martin’s body on his.


	7. Chapter 7

As Martin walked up the creaking stairs to his attic room, taking two steps at a time, he wondered what the hell had just happened. Excitement fluttered in his chest, making him feel buoyant and elated, though strictly speaking he had very little reason for it. Only yesterday, he’d had the worst date of his life.

But Douglas’ hug was lingering at the back of his mind and wouldn’t fade. Once being held by him, pressed against his huge, warm body, Martin hadn’t wanted to let go. He’d yearned to hang on, rub a bit further. It was rather embarrassing.

Naturally, he’d done the sensible thing and fled, hoping that Douglas wouldn’t notice the sudden shift in his mood, his need. Martin gave a disparaging little snort as he set the wine and his flight bag on the ground, padding his pockets for his keys. Douglas obviously didn’t know he was gay, something he was incredibly grateful for. Otherwise their innocent hug could have become pretty awkward.

Martin pushed the door open and involuntarily drew back when hot, stuffy air wafted against him, the room somewhat of a mess. He dropped the flight bag on the office stool and strode to the skylight, opening it to let in the cool evening air. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Lately he couldn’t stop thinking about sex — first with Jamie and now Douglas. Martin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was becoming ridiculous.

Clearing the clutter on his desk in one sweeping movement, he unpacked the wine and carefully lifted up a bottle to study the label. It looked distinguished . . . and pricey. Typical Douglas, Martin thought with a little smile, bending down as he stowed the wine in the fridge under the shelf with his aviation books, warmth spreading through him.

As he straightened himself, he noted a stack of unused Icarus flyers lying on top of the fridge. Guiltily he snagged them up and shoved them between two books out of sight. Moving business had been slow lately, and Martin had planned on doing another round at the local stores for ages. But ever since his love life had picked up, he simply lacked the energy. Dealing with Jamie was hard enough as it was.

Jamie. The mere thought of his attractive boyfriend made his stomach pull painfully.

With a sudden sense of dread, Martin shrugged out of his uniform jacket and turned it round to inspect it for stains. He sighed in relief. There was almost nothing to see . . . like nothing had happened. Yesterday, after his rotten date, he’d provisionally washed the uniform at the hand wash basin and left it drying over night.

Martin put the jacket on a hanger and stripped off his shirt, silently thanking God for the excellent washing qualities of polyester. Maybe he _had_ overreacted and it wasn’t all bad. Jamie was just crazy about him. And also sex. Which was a good thing, really, Martin reassured himself as he pulled on an old T-shirt and, studiously ignoring the chaos around him, lay down on his rumpled futon, arms behind his head.

Above him the window opened onto a view of the night sky, a small rectangle of dark blue dabbed with a few glittering stars. Martin had always loved gazing out there, making his troubles seem small in a way. Today though . . . he still couldn’t fathom what had befallen him to hug Douglas. But standing in the doorway, brimming with gratitude, it had seemed like the thing to do.

Martin closed his eyes and slid his hands down under the blanket, gently stroking his sides and hips. It had actually been good to talk to Douglas, he reflected with a flicker of wonderment. He’d been so down after what Jamie had done to him. Even when he realised that there wasn’t any lasting evidence, he couldn’t help feel pathetic.

But Douglas made it all sound so easy, Martin thought almost desperately, clenching his hands to fists. He always had something up his sleeve — in his case an actual plan. He’d bring the Chardonnay for the next date and they’d drink it together and finally talk. Like proper boyfriends, not just for sex. Martin sighed deeply as he relaxed his fingers, softly ghosting them over his boxers. Maybe he should act more like Douglas, be less passive.

He sometimes wondered if it was always like this for him. Problem, solution — what a life! But come to think of it, Douglas didn’t seem too happy, now that Helena had moved out and he was a bachelor again. Martin sighed and curled up on his side, burying his head in the pillow. Why was it so hard? But then again, everyone said that relationships were hard.

And wasn’t this especially true for him, he contemplated bitterly. Being with a good looking boyfriend like Jamie, inexperienced as he was? Jamie could have anybody, Martin was under no illusions about that. He’d asked himself more than once what he saw in him. To hold someone like Jamie one had to be skilled . . . at least in bed. So if things went wrong, he had only himself to blame. He simply had to try harder.

Martin rolled onto his back again, feeling his heart beat faster. He knew that he wouldn’t stop trying. He wouldn’t give up.

However, when his hand finally slid into his boxers and reached for his hardening cock, it weren’t Jamie’s baby-blue eyes he was thinking of.

 

* * *

 

When James let him into the flat the following weekend, he didn’t instantly grab Martin and shove him into the next wall, but merely waved him through to the bedroom, stifling a yawn. With his tousled hair and baggy eyes, wearing nothing but faded pyjama bottoms and a wrinkled shirt, he looked even more dishevelled than usual. “Hello, Captain,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

There it was again. _Captain_. Martin cringed, and he asked himself why it felt so different when Douglas mocked him with it. Jamie made it sound almost disdainful. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

“Here, since we’re always at yours,” Martin mumbled and held out his bottle of Chardonnay, plastering a smile on his face. And why was he so nervous? He knew the wine was good — Douglas wouldn’t give him anything less.

Jamie shrugged and took the bottle. He stared blankly at it as if he wasn’t quite awake yet, when suddenly a curious look came over his bleary-eyed face. Martin watched him, tensely, hope and nerves mingling. He realised what he really wanted was a quiet night together. He had so many questions to ask.

James gave him a funny look and Martin stiffened with apprehension. “That was quite expensive, Captain.”

“Well, erm … no,” Martin stammered. He could hardly admit that he had no idea, that he’d got it from Douglas.

Fortunately James didn’t seem to expect an immediate response. He walked into the living room, with Martin dutifully trudging behind, and deposited the bottle on the coffee table. The clash of glass on glass rang through the silence. Holding himself very still, Martin took everything in, the fingerprints on the table, packets of cigarettes lying scattered around, the black leather sofa. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for. He wondered if he should sit down.

“Let’s go out.” All of a sudden, James’ lazy voice sounded from behind. Next Martin could feel him pressing into his back, arms resting on his shoulder. “Your treat, since you want to make up to me,” he breathed into his ear.

Martin looked round, startled. Jamie leant in and suggestively swiped his tongue across Martin’s lips. “—Captain.”

No, no. Not _that_ again. Martin wriggled himself out of the embrace, already feeling light-headed from the proximity. He knew only too well what was coming. Jamie thought he was loaded just because he was an airline captain.

James smiled beatifically at him while Martin’s mind began to race, calculating the price of a romantic dinner for two. He’d saved some money for his rent, so one time eating out shouldn’t be a problem. “Okay”, he mumbled nervously. If they went to the cheap Italian place Arthur liked so much, it might be okay.

“Great.” James clapped him on the shoulder.

For a moment, Martin panicked. Transfixed he watched Jamie vanish into the bedroom, displaying an unexpected burst of energy, just to see him emerge minutes later in a dark-red shirt and black trousers, all sleepiness magically gone. Feeling like the world might come crashing down on him any second, he followed his every move, watched him put on a jacket and shoes. What if Jamie expected him to drive? He wasn’t supposed to know about ’Icarus Removals’.

But then he saw Jamie pocket his car keys and Martin felt giddy with relief. Jamie would drive. And finally it sank in — they were going out. For real. As a couple.

In the lift to the underground garage, Martin surreptitiously checked his appearance in the mirror, glad to have chosen his best jacket and shirt. He inched a bit closer to his dashing boyfriend, not quite touching, his financial worries dissolving with every metre further down. Something about Jamie’s enthusiasm was intoxicating. The lift doors pinged open, and Martin sucked in a breath as he was lead towards a silver Audi TT.

“Come in, Captain.” Gallantly James held the passenger door open.

As gracefully as possible Martin folded himself into the black leather seat, anxious not to touch any of the shiny instruments. The car smelled . . . well, of cigarettes. No surprise here. Then the engine roared to life and Jamie fumbled for the remote to open up the garage door.

Martin had never driven with a date through the night – getting a lift home from Douglas or Arthur didn’t count – and he could feel all his senses heightened. Since neither of them talked, he settled for shifting his gaze between Jamie driving and the darkness outside, the beat of the sound system blasting in his ears.

In less than 10 minutes, they reached the town centre, the Audi coming to a smooth stop in a quiet side street. To Martin’s tremendous relief, the restaurant seemed quite small and didn’t look too posh — a few tables lit by candles, a French sounding name he didn’t understand. Glowing with anticipation and happiness, he followed Jamie inside.

He stopped mid-stride and stared, a heavy feeling in his stomach.

Among the happy couples, sipping wine and enjoying their meal, a single man was sitting at a corner table, a plate of soup and glass of sparkling water before him. Douglas looked just as shocked as him as their eyes met across the crowded room.


	8. Chapter 8

Another day being home alone.

He should be used to it by now, Douglas grumbled as he put the shopping bags down on the kitchen table and listlessly began to store their contents away. The entry hall still looked deserted without the gilded floor-to-ceiling mirror. Sighing, Douglas went up to the attic to fix this. There were a few other things he could get down as well. His winter coats for instance, since there was plenty of room in the wardrobe.

Shortly after, Douglas dropped an armful of clothes onto the double bed and ran a hand through his hair. How quickly years spent together had dissolved into nothing, he found. He didn’t expect to hear from Helena any time soon. After their great night of confessions, she’d turned into a different person, like she’d never really belonged here. Or to him.

Douglas shook his head at the absurdity of it all. They’d bought the bedroom furniture together in the first throes of passion. All modern, clear lines. God, he didn’t like it. And apparently the new Helena didn’t either, because she’d left it all to rot here.

Douglas sank onto the bed, stupidly staring at the half-empty wardrobe, as images of his past marriage flickered through his mind. It had been a whirlwind romance. Beautiful Helena, with her willowy figure and long blond hair. At first they could only meet in secret, Douglas remembered, he buying flowers at her little corner shop for his newly married wife. The consequent lies and deception merely added to the excitement.

And then, after his second divorce was final, they were living the high life. Little weekend trips, golfing. As though he wanted to prove himself that life was still fabulous at 50. And for a little while it worked — she’d really brought the best out in him.

But sitting here alone in a big house was anything but. Not for the first time Douglas realised that he was no good at it. Down in the kitchen food was waiting to be prepared, but he loathed cooking for himself. What was the point when there was no one to impress? _He_ knew he could cook after all.

For a ludicrous moment, he even considered asking Martin over, have a quiet night in. He wouldn’t mind the occasional talk about aviation. But then he remembered that it was Saturday and that Martin was probably out on a date.

Angrily Douglas shoved the winter coats aside and padded his pockets for his keys. Why on earth should he stay at home and be miserable? He decided to go out, even though he knew that sitting alone in a restaurant was hardly any better than cooking for himself. There was this little French place he’d always wanted to try, though. Douglas felt his mood lift infinitesimally. With renewed energy, he threw the wardrobe doors open and changed into a nice shirt.

At least there would be some people there.

 

* * *

 

Douglas had taken the first sip of his excellent Bouillabaisse when his eyes fell on two men entering the restaurant. He only noticed because the man in front reminded him vaguely of someone he might have met at the airfield. A rather good looking guy, though the effect was spoiled by his baggy eyes and a slightly unpleasant smile.

The second one was . . . Martin.

Douglas froze and stared at them, expensive soup dripping onto the pristine tablecloth. So this was Martin’s mysterious date. Transfixed he watched the unlikely pair as they weaved their way through the room, while his brain struggled to process what was happening. Martin going out with another man, parading him right in front of him. Douglas squirmed in his seat which suddenly seemed much too small. He would never have guessed in a million years.

Meanwhile, after his initial flabbergasted stare, Martin seemed determined to ignore Douglas completely. Instead he was all smiles with his companion, who settled into his chair with the confident air of a regular. At least Martin looked happy, Douglas had to admit. The boyfriend, though, . . . he wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole. Not for anything serious anyway.

And then it hit him full force. This washed-up guy was Martin’s lover. The ominous friend with the uniform kink he made all the fuss about.

With shaking hands, Douglas pushed his plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore. It clanked with his glass of sparkling water and he lunged to rescue it, spilling more soup in the process, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t leave his eyes from Martin.

Oblivious to the close scrutiny, Martin now picked up the leather-bound menu. Opened it carefully. He paused and laughed at something his companion said to him. Douglas ground his teeth. He really couldn’t stand the guy.

It was embarrassingly easy to discern the exact moment Martin realised the exorbitant prices of this place. He frowned at the menu and went very still, white as a sheet in fact, while the boyfriend was shouting for the waiter.

Douglas dug his fingers into the tablecloth, trying to keep calm. He really hoped that Martin wouldn’t be the one to pay for dinner. But then he saw the other man ordering, and Martin virtually crumpled in his seat, his nervous smile frozen in place. Probably calculating in his head how many months worth of rent one single meal was going to cost him.

Something had to be done.

Since Martin was pretending Douglas wasn’t there, he couldn’t make eye contact. His gaze bounced from table to table, seeking for inspiration. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave Martin like this while his so-called partner was getting drunk on Champagne.

Douglas pushed back his chair and got up. He had to think. The door to the gents’ toilet opened and swung shut behind him as he went straight for the sinks. With a deep sigh, he rested his hands on the cool porcelain and stared at his reflection in the mirror, an old face looking back at him. He had to get Martin out of there. Douglas scowled and fiddled for his phone, figuring out what to do, when suddenly an idea occurred.

Decision made, he tightened his jaw and left the room as swiftly as he had come. He worked his way back to the table . . . the table where Martin still hadn’t moved, but was now chattering with the other guy.

Douglas ignored them.

He planted himself in front of the two lovebirds and reached out and touched Martin gently on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but Carolyn just called.” He shoved his phone on the table.

Martin flinched at the light contact, his eyelids fluttering. “Douglas . . . what are you doing here?” He swirled around and gazed up at him, rabbit caught in the headlights-style. Obviously feigning confusion. Or maybe not so much. What were the odds of the two of them meeting here on a Saturday night?

“I don’t know about you, Captain, but I’ve always wanted to try this restaurant,” Douglas replied smoothly. He put a slight emphasis on the honorific to remind Martin that he was in an official capacity here.

“Yes . . . yeah . . . me too. I think you told me about it the other day.” Martin’s voice was wavering. He nodded slowly as if to compose himself, then turned to his companion. ”This is . . . my boyfriend James. Jamie, this is Douglas, First Officer at MJN,” he introduced with a nervous laugh.

“Pleasure.” Douglas didn’t spare a glance at Mr. Baggy-eyes. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “Sorry again for interrupting your date, Martin, but this is urgent. Apparently Mr. Birling is waiting at the airfield. Roaring drunk, of course.”

“What? Mr. Birling? Now?” Martin squealed.

Douglas nodded gravely. “Oh yes,” he said. “Right at this moment, he’s sitting with Carolyn and Arthur in the portakabin. He insists to be taken to Paris.”

“But it isn’t the Six Nations final,” Martin whined. “What’s he doing here in Fitton? And why Paris?”

“Ah. Since his last visit he apparently has taken a shine to the city,” Douglas lied. “I hope I don’t need to remind you that Mr. B. is a highly valued client. As you know one trip . . . or should I say tip,” Douglas wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, “can make all the difference.”

“But I cannot... Not tonight,“ Martin said, blushing. “Can’t _you_ operate alone for once?” He looked beseechingly at Douglas. When he didn’t react, Martin flashed a glance at his boyfriend for help. James, though, seemed quite contend to lean back in his chair, lightening a cigarette.

Douglas felt a surge of anger shooting through him — honestly, what was so special about this idiot? “It’s not good policy to let a client wait.” He tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “Come on, Martin, let’s go. This is really not the time to dawdle around.” He stepped back and almost collided with the waiter, who was hovering nearby, waiting to serve drinks.

“But . . .” Martin’s gaze darted between Douglas and his boyfriend, torn what to do. Finally he caved in and turned to James with a helpless shrug. “I’m so sorry, but I think I have to take this flight. That’s the problem with working for a small company, we’re always on duty.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh as he stood up, chair scraping across the floor.

Douglas sighed with relief. Not overly keen to watch them kiss goodbye, he signalled for the waiter to pay his bill.

 

* * *

 

Outside the restaurant, the pavement was bustling with the Saturday evening crowd heading for dinner. Douglas withdrew to a quiet corner under the awning of a closed tearoom next door and leant against the window. When Martin appeared by his side, he started hectically looking up and down the small alley. “Douglas, could you drive me home?” he panted. “I need to change. When did Carolyn say we should come to the airfield?”

“Breath, Martin.” Douglas stepped nearer and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “There is no Mr. Birling.”

Martin froze under his touch. “What? What do you mean?”

“It’s plain and simple. I rescued you.” Douglas folded his arms across his chest and grinned, feeling inordinately pleased with himself how well his little scheme had worked out so far.

“You did what?” Martin stared at him, his face draining of colour. “You didn’t need to rescue me. That was the best date of my life.” He lifted his chin a fraction, challenging Douglas to say anything else.

“Oh, come on.” Douglas couldn’t believe his ears. Didn’t Martin have got any sense? “You can’t tell me that _he_ was inviting you to dinner. Believe me, I know that type.” And if he came across as a bit condescending, so be it. Non too gentle he began to steer Martin along the street, not wanting to make a scene near the restaurant.

“You don’t know anything!” Martin clenched his hands to fists and fixed his eyes on Douglas. “Listen, we’re always at his place, so it’s only fair. I’m an airline captain, so I’m supposed to pay . . . now and then.” The last bit was stated rather pleadingly.

“Exactly. He’s using you, don’t you see?” Douglas said, anger flaring up. “Good Lord, Martin, do you even know the prices of this place?” He gestured at the brightly lit restaurant where two dressed up couples were lingering in front of the entrance door, laughing.

Martin followed his gaze and swallowed. “Well . . . I’ve saved something for the rent. Icarus has been doing well lately.” It was a pitiful attempt to save face and they both knew it.

Douglas sighed. He stepped nearer until they almost touched. Up close, he could feel Martin’s breath going quickly. “Believe me, you cannot afford it,” he said quietly.

“So . . . so you’re thinking James is too good for me.” Martin’s voice wobbled, his eyes not quite meeting his.

“No, that is not what I’m thinking.” Douglas turned away, angrily. How could anyone be so daft? He started to go without looking back, winding his way through the alley. They shouldn’t keep standing here. Martin’s idiotic boyfriend could come out at any second.

“Why then ruin this for me?” Martin cried, hastening to keep pace. And then, more quietly, “What now? I cannot go back. It’s Saturday evening . . . and I have no date.” He made a choking noise at the back of his throat.

“Well.” Douglas stopped. They had reached the main street, and his car was parked just a few paces away. He looked at Martin consideringly. “If you want, _we_ could go out,” he said. “I know a nice Italian place–“

He saw Martin turning red with anger and deflating within seconds. “Yeah, the cheap one Arthur likes so much,” Martin finished tonelessly, looking like he was going to cry. His arms dangled forlornly at his sides. Defeated was what came to Douglas’ mind.

“It doesn’t need to be Italian.” Douglas quickly interjected. He scanned the street, thinking hard. “I know a nice pub, they serve decent food. Or we can go to my place.” There had to be something to cheer him up.

“And that should be any consolation. I nice evening with you … instead of . . . of . . .” Martin spat with an unexpected flare of viciousness. His whole body was shaking.

“Spell it out, Martin, instead of having sex with this fuckwit.” Douglas breathed heavily.

Martin glared at him, an intense fevered stare. His face had gone deadly pale and sweat was breaking out on his brow. “So this is what you think of me. First you ruin my date. Then you insult my boyfriend. The least you can do is take me home.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, stalking in direction of the Lexus.

Douglas followed him, numbly. He wondered what the hell he’d done wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner had been a disaster. Seething with humiliation and anger, Martin burst into his attic room and flopped down onto the bed. They’d sat through the short ride to Parkside Terrace in stony silence, and Martin had barely said goodbye. He’d noticed, though, out of the corner of his eye, that Douglas had looked pretty shaken up too.

As he lay sprawled across the mattress, grimly staring at the skylight, he just couldn’t believe what had happened. How Douglas had swooped in and swept him away, breaking up his precious date without a thought. He’d rescued him like some silly damsel in distress. And for what reason? Money. Stupid money he didn’t have and never would.

It wasn’t fair, Martin thought, breathing heavily. Just because he was poor, didn’t mean he didn’t wish to go on a nice date with his boyfriend for once.

He got up and crossed the room, yanking the unused Icarus flyers out of the shelf, where they were stacked between books. Martin considered them in disgust, then crammed them away without care. He would design new ones, he decided, better ones. And raise the price. Twelve quid an hour wasn’t asking too much, certainly. And then he could go out too, eating French soup, like everyone else did.

Martin rested his hands on the writing desk and exhaled slowly. But that wasn’t all, was it? He’d left Jamie behind all alone in the restaurant, and now he felt terrible about it. What if he never forgave him? He might never find anybody again, he realised, a flare of panic rising. What should he do?

The worst thing, however, had been the expression of utter disgust on Douglas’ face when he’d first caught sight of Jamie. Martin blinked, angry tears welling up. Like Jamie was the last person he could ever imagine falling in love with. And he had thought that Douglas was his friend. How could he ever be happy, when even Douglas thought it was hopeless?

Better not to think too much about it. Martin straightened and wiped the tears away with a shaky hand. No, he would shower, brush his teeth and go to bed. Mechanically he began to search for a towel, soap, a fresh t-shirt and boxers. And tomorrow . . . there weren’t any flights scheduled, thank God. Martin could have sighed with relief. He wasn’t keen on facing meddling Douglas any time soon.

He could barely sleep that night. The air in his tiny attic felt sticky with stuffed heat. As he tossed and turned in bed, all tangled up with the blanket, fragments of memories and shreds of dreams kept flashing through his brain.

Jamie ordering Champagne . . . Martin searching for his wallet . . . Douglas raising his glass to him . . . Jamie eating dessert . . . Martin checking his pockets . . . double-checking . . .

The next morning, Martin awoke with a throbbing headache. His mouth tasted fuzzy, as if he’d been drinking too much. Shakily he sat up and angled for his phone. All he could think of was Jamie, the whole horror of last night’s outing swamping his mind. He had to do something, apologize.

He stared at his phone for several minutes. Finally, he typed: ’Home again. Client is happy.’ Martin hit send, his fingers still sweaty and stiff from sleep. With that he sank back onto the pillow, bracing himself for hours of excruciating wait. After a few moments his phone buzzed.

’Who is this Mr. Birling anyway that you’re choosing him over me?’

Martin froze. Perplexed he stared at the instant reply. Busy Jamie never texted back. What did it mean? Could it be possible that he’d actually . . . cared? ’He’s our most valuable client, filthy rich. And I really am sorry.’ Martin typed as quickly as he could.

’Don’t fret, Captain. Work’s a bitch.’

Martin couldn’t help the big smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Good old Jamie, always reliable to complain about his boss. He imagined him sitting up in bed too, wearing nothing but faded black boxers, probably smoking a cigarette. ’So we’re good?’ he wrote a little nervously.

’Sure.’ Then, 30 seconds later. ’Why don’t you come over on Monday?’

’Yes. 5:30?’ Which was their usual time when Jamie had the early shift. After a long day of toadying to passengers, he needed something to wind down, and Martin totally understood. He clutched his phone long after he’d hit sent, an unfamiliar warmth radiating in his chest. Jamie and him were okay . . . and that was all that mattered.

He’d just decided to try for another hour of sleep when his phone buzzed again. ’Don’t forget your uniform!’

Martin swallowed as he gazed at the display. His cock gave an unwelcome twitch and he could feel his heart was hammering in his chest. He could do that, couldn’t he? After last night, it seemed only fair. For a wistful moment, he pictured Douglas, sitting in a café in Austria, listening to his sorrows. Douglas with his soft eyes and ready smile. He wondered how he’d handle it?

Martin shook his head, putting him firmly out of his mind. This . . . this was over for now. His fingers trembled as he typed in another ’yes’.

 

* * *

 

It was funny, Martin reflected some weeks later, how things had worked out. He gulped down the last mouthful of his beans on toast and went to rinse the plate, ignoring the dirty dishes piling up in the sink. Douglas’ embarrassing scene in the restaurant, meant to break Jamie and him apart, had actually brought them closer together. Though they never talked about it, Jamie seemed to cherish him more, now that he knew that Martin had other acquaintances besides him.

He didn’t dare call it love. But it was true that Martin went over to his flat fairly regularly. He now had a place in Jamie’s life.

Sometimes he even stayed the night. It was merely practicable, Martin thought wryly, so they could have sex in the morning too. And when it got a bit rough sometimes, he took pains to hide it from Douglas, never sitting down too hard in the portakabin or the flight deck. He had lots of practice by now.

Martin dried his hands with the least filthy looking towel and brushed the remaining crumbs off his jacket. He eyed the bright blue fabric critically, then sighed. The uniform seemed to have become a permanent fixture in his sex life lately. Jamie got a real kick out of it fucking him like this. All perfectly normal, Martin reassured himself, just a little kink. He knew all about these now — kinks. He’d looked it up on the internet.

If only Jamie wouldn’t splatter semen on the jacket so often. All the washing was getting annoying.

He opened the kitchen cabinet with a little more force than strictly necessary and and put the toast back in. It wasn’t as if he could talk to Douglas about it . . . Jamie, his other job, the shiny new flyers he’d painstakingly made, or anything else really. Today, after the flight, they’d barely said goodbye. In fact, ever since that night, Douglas and him were hardly even speaking. No more bets or games, no little talks in cafés. Nothing.

Martin shook his head. That evening when Douglas had offered him his house key with the little teddy bear, it seemed like another lifetime. Now and then, Martin opened the top drawer of his writing desk and gently picked it up. Touched it. Held to his lips even. The fur felt really soft.

In these moments he wondered why he didn’t do something about it. Just drive over to Douglas’ house, like a surprise or something. Martin was almost sure that Douglas missed him too. Sometimes he believed he’d caught a look in his eyes, when Douglas thought he wouldn’t notice.

But then he remembered the dreadful episode at the French restaurant and how patronizing Douglas had been. Martin just couldn’t bear the contempt in his eyes. And even if Jamie wasn’t perfect, at least he was there for him. One or two times they’d actually cuddled in bed, whereas Douglas was always acting so cold and aloof.

Martin heaved a sigh, collected his flight bag and went down the creaking stairs. He had another date tonight.

 

* * *

 

Martin hit the mattress hard. The satin bedclothes felt unnaturally warm and comfy against his naked back, as if Jamie had been lounging here just before he came by and Martin could still sense the last traces of his body heat. Then Jamie pushed him even deeper into the covers, his hand hot and a little rough on Martin’s chest. Panting, he squinted up him, his boyfriend’s handsome face nothing but a blur in the half-light of the early evening.

“Let’s try something new.“ Jamie was breathing heavily.

Martin nodded, mutely. As always, his input on the proceedings seemed to be merely optional. He loved the intimacy of fucking face to face though, and he wriggled in place brimming with anticipation. Not that there was anything new about this position. They were doing it regularly . . . whenever Jamie was in the mood.

“Well, well . . . my favourite Captain, fresh from the airfield, all rosy and windswept,” Jamie cooed, still towering over him, his eyes raking over Martin’s exposed body. He blew him a kiss, then scrambled forward on his hands and knees until his erect cock was directly hovering over Martin’s mouth.

Martin stared at the fleshy tip with wide eyes. He could smell a faint whisk of musk. A flare of arousal shot through him. “Jamie.” He parted his lips experimentally.

“That’s right, Captain. Don’t you dare use your teeth.” It was the only warning he got before James thrust forward, shoving his cock roughly between his lips.

Martin gagged as the head slid heavily across his tongue, softly bumping against the back of his throat. Instinctively he squeezed his eyes shut and clawed his hands in the sheets, his whole body becoming rigid, anything to prevent his mouth from closing.

With that, he seemed to stop thinking altogether. Jamie’s body took over, obscuring his vision, as he impatiently pumped in and out. Gulping, grunting, gagging, Martin simply held onto it, saliva trickling down his face. When hot fluid shot into his mouth, he had no choice but to swallow. He quivered and coughed, lying flat on his back, desperately trying not to choke.

Moments later James sat up. His eyes were dancing devilishly. “How did you like that, Captain?” Before Martin could react, grasp at him for a cuddle, he was already out of reach. Martin swallowed heavily, the salty, bitter taste of come unfolding in his mouth and lingering there. His throat felt sore, and he would have really liked a kiss.

Impassively he watched Jamie pull up the worn waistband of his boxers, his face reflecting nothing but boredom now. Then he turned his back, surely searching for his precious cigarettes. Was one kiss too much to ask?

’This isn’t love.’ The unbidden thought filled Martin’s mind with uncharacteristic clarity. This was . . . nothing. Douglas was right. But Douglas wasn’t here. Not after his fateful rescue attempt; and Martin had been sorry for his outburst almost instantly. But he couldn’t go to Douglas. He knew how he viewed this relationship. And he couldn’t end it. Not for Douglas, not for anyone. He suppressed a sob.

And so, Martin wiped his mouth, heaved himself up and snuggled into Jamie’s casually extended arm, resting his head on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, his tongue carefully probing the swollen lips. He’d never felt so alone in his life.


	10. Chapter 10

Douglas slammed the door of his Lexus shut. Summer was definitely over — a drizzling rain was falling down from low, thick clouds that would likely drench his clothes if he stayed outside much longer. He opened the car boot and angled for his hat and flight bag, his fine hair already getting damp with tiny droplets of water. Putting the hat on, he let his gaze sweep over the parking place.

A battered old van was standing a few paces away. Douglas frowned. Turning his head, he searched for light in the portakabin. He had no intention of sitting through another hour of non-conversation with Martin. Flying to Salzburg in stony silence interspersed by short commands and the steady cackle of air traffic control was bad enough.

He’d just decided to steer clear of his MJN colleagues and walk straight up to G-ERTI when a silver Audi TT pulled up next to him. Automatically Douglas began to calculate the cost of such a vehicle. He peered inside, checking out the interior fittings, then suddenly stopped dead. In there, barely visible through the steamed up window, was the idiotic guy Martin was going out with.

James, the elusive steward with a taste for French cuisine. Also the one who was making Martin utterly miserable.

Douglas felt his pulse speeding. He’d discreetly asked around the airfield, trying to find out more about the guy. But apparently James wasn’t one to mingle with the ground crew. He’d even considered talking to Martin, but had discarded the idea right away. It was no use, he would merely clam up. Douglas was sure, though, that Martin was still seeing him.

However, this should be interesting . . . a mere flight attendant driving up to the airfield in an expensive sports car. Douglas couldn’t help the knowing smile playing on his lips. It was sheer blind luck that the man was parking next to him. Maybe this was the chance he’d been waiting for.

He smoothed down his jacket and sauntered over to the Audi, planting himself in front of the driver’s door. With satisfaction he watched as James scrambled out of the car, blinking sulkily into the rain. When he saw Douglas waiting for him, he paused, his brow furrowed in concentration. At last recognition dawned on his face. “Aren’t you the guy from. . . ?” His raspy voice faltered.

“First Officer Richardson.” Douglas stepped forward and held out his hand with an inviting smile. “And I’m awfully sorry to have interrupted your date,” he said, doing his best to look contrite.

James nodded, unconcerned. It seemed like he had all but forgotten about the spoiled outing at the French restaurant. “Is Crieff here?” he asked after a moment.

Douglas flashed him a broad smile. This was getting better and better. “Why don’t you come over to the plane?” He grimaced as he ducked against the rain. “I’m sure the captain is already in the flight-deck doing the preflight checks.” He let sarcasm drip into his voice.

“He’s a stickler for sure,” James replied morosely, falling into a trot next to him.

Seeing his sullen face, Douglas suspected that this was probably a permanent state of mind. “Regulation, rules you name it,” he said, glad that at least he didn’t have to pretend for once. “I’m sure he sleeps with the flight manual under his pillow.”

It was only a few steps across the tarmac to G-ERTI, and Douglas was relieved to find the aircraft deserted. It would probably take some time to sound James out who’d proven to be unhelpfully monosyllabic so far.

He unceremoniously shuffled his guest up the stairs, straight into the cramped galley. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a striking red and green monstrosity sitting on top of the microwave next to the asbestos gloves. Before James could get too curious about Arthur’s newest abomination of a hat, Douglas banged the flight-deck door open and ushered him inside.

“Would you like to sit in Martin’s seat?” he asked slyly.

Instead of answering, James flopped down. He smiled unpleasantly. “Shouldn’t you say Captain Martin Crieff? Like he never ceases to remind me.” Then after a pause. “So, where is he?” He drummed his fingers on the console.

“Don’t worry, he should be here soon.” Douglas stowed away his flight bag and sat down. He breathed a long suffering sigh. “The Captain can be a bit annoying like that.”

James turned to him, a calculating look on his face. “It cannot be easy to see him being promoted over you. A bit of flying prodigy is he? Always the best grades. Parents paying all through flight school.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Douglas murmured, flinching at the sudden whiff of stale cigarettes. His mind was reeling. It seemed like Martin hadn’t told his boyfriend anything about his financial circumstances . . . probably nothing that mattered at all. He actually believed that Martin was rich, for god’s sake. What kind of relationship was that even?

“God, I hate that type,” James said with feeling, quite oblivious to Douglas’ distress. “And this one isn’t even generous. He sits on his money.”

Douglas swallowed. If he wanted to help Martin, he’d got to keep this idiot talking. “Tell me about it! He’s certainly never paid for anything here. That time in the restaurant. Did he invite you to dinner? Well, that would have been a first.” Douglas leant back in his chair, scratching his neck.

He almost jumped back when he heard footsteps in the galley. Carefully he craned his neck, peering through the open flight deck door, just a crack ajar. Wasn’t there some gold braid glittering in the dark?

“Well, I have my methods,” James muttered with a nasty gleam in his eyes.

Douglas cringed at the vindictive look on his face. This guy was far worse than he thought . . . and, if he wasn’t mistaken, Martin was standing right outside the door. “I bet you have,” he murmured.

“He isn’t even a decent fuck. I can hardly get it up for his skinny arse.” Now James looked straight at him with a sour face.

Douglas froze, staring right back into his baby-blue eyes. Ice formed in his guts. How dare he? This was the guy who was giving Martin sleepless nights. Martin who would do anything to please him. No. This farce of a relationship had to end, once and for all. Shaking with rage, Douglas gave the cabin door a push until it shut with a little thud. Then he pressed cabin address button.

“So, if you don’t like our Captain’s skinny arse, why did do it, James?” he asked softly.

 

* * *

 

When Martin noticed that the lights were on in the flight deck, he murmured a quick apology to Carolyn and Arthur, grabbed his hat, and hurried over to G-ERTI. Carolyn had probably got the shock of her life seeing him leave before the flight plan was filed, but Martin didn’t care. It seemed like Douglas was early and Martin was determined to finally talk to him before the drone of the engines rendered any meaningful conversation impossible.

Too late he realised that he’d forgot his jacket, and the drizzle was soaking his shirt as he hastened across the tarmac. He dismissed it with a shrug, Douglas wouldn’t care about proper protocol anyway, and just walked on, in his mind running through the talk for the millionth time. He really didn’t want to mess things up.

As he entered the galley, his head buzzing with the fragments of an apology, he heard muffled voices coming from the flight deck. Martin stopped dead. Who was Douglas talking to? This was supposed to be a cargo flight and Arthur was busy hoovering the portakabin. He wasn’t doing anything illegal, was he?

Curiously Martin edged nearer, listening to the male voices. One of them was definitely Douglas, and the other sounded strangely familiar as well. Martin blinked. He was just about to barge in when suddenly the door slammed in his face. At the same moment the cabin address went on.

“ . . . so, if you don’t like our Captain’s skinny arse, why did do it, James?” Douglas’ voice came crackling through the loudspeaker.

Martin froze in mid-motion, his hand already reaching for the door knob. What was Douglas talking about?

“Who would want me? They are all into stewardesses . . . and I need the money.”

God, and this was Jamie, Martin realised with a rush of adrenalin tingling through his body. He hadn’t seen him for almost a week. What was he doing here chatting with Douglas? Martin stared at the door, his mind blank and his gut roiling, then sank onto the nearest jump seat. Mesmerized he listened.

“Bit of a tight spot you are in?” Douglas inquired. “Debts?”

James scoffed. “The apartment doesn’t pay for itself. Then there is the car, the TV –”

Martin’s head shot up, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. This couldn’t be true. Jamie didn’t have money troubles. He was leading an ordinary life . . . with a good job . . . much unlike himself.

“Well, you won’t get anything from cheapskate Crieff,” Douglas said firmly.

Martin blanched. Douglas sounded so cold and distant. Was this how he talked behind his back? Because they were definitely speaking of him. But Douglas wouldn’t betray him, or would he? He’d never told Jamie about Icarus, and this was the perfect opportunity to pay him back for every time he’d belittled him . . . forced him to call him ’sir’. This wasn’t one of their games though—

“He has a large family,” Douglas explained.

Martin slumped against the backrest, weak with temporary relief. He’d never meant to lie to Jamie. But he’d always seemed so . . . well, excited dating a captain. So he hadn’t discouraged it. Douglas himself had advised him to impress Jamie a bit. It had made their connection feel special, in a way. But he’d always wanted the relationship to be on an equal footing.

“He’s married?” Jamie asked with a sullen voice. “Damn, I knew it, there was something odd about him. Being gay on the side. He wasn’t even serious.”

What did he mean by that? There was so much contempt in Jamie’s voice. Martin began to shiver, feeling sick to his stomach. Maybe there hadn’t been a chance to tell him, but Martin had always been serious. It was Jamie who’d pushed him away.

“Well, that I wouldn’t know. Sir doesn’t confide in me. But ever since his dad died, he supported his siblings.”

This made absolutely no sense. What was Douglas hinting at? That Martin was rich? And why was Jamie so interested in his finances? They’d never talked about money. All he’d ever wanted was a boyfriend. Was this too much to ask?

“Fucking bleeding heart. Well, I suppose I could fuck him anyway,” Jamie said nastily.

Martin froze with shock at the cruel words, something crumpling and crashing deep inside him. Suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He leapt up, anger pulsing through him, and stormed to the front, banged the door open and burst into the flight deck.

“What’s wrong with you two?” he shouted. “You want to fuck me, but you don’t even like me. It’s all about money with you. You think I’m a rich airline captain.” Martin panted heavily, his cheeks burning red with anger and shame. He made a wavering step towards Jamie. “Look, at me,” he cried. “Douglas is right, I’m poor. I’m poorer than you with your car and fancy apartment. I . . . I don’t make any money. I keep flying because I love it.“

He swung around, sluggishly, and fixed his eyes on Douglas, who was just sitting back in his first officer’s chair and doing nothing. “And you … I thought I could trust you,” he said with a sob.

Douglas stared at Martin, his mouth agape, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Now he got up, his eyes pleading. “Martin–”

But Martin didn’t listen, couldn’t really. His world was collapsing in front of his eyes, and he didn’t want to hear or see anyone. He stumbled backwards through the door. In the safety of the galley, tears began to flow freely, streaming down his cheeks. Punching angrily at Arthur’s cheerful hat, he staggered on out into the rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt:  
> Between series 3 & 4 (ie before Theresa exists) Martin somehow gets into a friends with benefits situation with a man at the airfield he has a vague crush on, feeling that if he can’t have love, he may as well have just sex. Douglas hears about the arrangement and gradually comes to realise the captain is being horribly taken advantage of - maybe the other man refuses to kiss Martin, or won’t let him stay over, or is also sleeping with other people despite implying to Martin that they’re exclusive... Whatever filler likes. Up to you how douglas reacts but would love some protective douglas and if the filler so desires eventual D/M wouldn’t be the worst thing ever ;)


End file.
